


Back in 'Nam

by milhouse



Category: The Simpsons
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Vietnam, War, can be read as platonic, i did it, i finally caved and wrote a simpsons fic, i guess u could say i've officially reached rock bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:07:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25238962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milhouse/pseuds/milhouse
Summary: AU where Skinner meets Chalmers as a prisoner of war and they escape together.
Relationships: Gary Chalmers/Seymour Skinner
Comments: 8
Kudos: 26





	Back in 'Nam

**Author's Note:**

> written in a haze at 4 am and not beta-read... no offence but i am Not about to ask my friends to read a SIMPSONS fanfic. i am already embarrassed enough please be nice.

_1968, Vietnam._

Eighteen months in a tiger cage. Eighteen agonizing months. 

Skinner could admit that he was a petty man, but for God’s sake, he was still a decent one. He managed to forgive Mother even after all of those times she forgot him at the grocery store. That had to account for something.

But to be forgotten at a POW camp by his commanding officer _and_ his entire platoon? It was completely unpardonable. It was incomprehensible. It was…

Well, it hurt. (Although he’d still accept an apology). 

It wasn't as if any of that mattered, anyway. Not any longer. Now it was only him, the rusting bars of the confined cage, and a thin stew made of fish, vegetables, prawns, and four kinds of rice. It can go without saying that there was no actual tiger, though he would occasionally yearn for the company of one. It got lonely.

The only person he ever actually made contact with was Colonel Chalmers, who was apparently in charge of supplying him with food and water. Every second day, Chalmers would open the flap of the tent where Skinner's cage was left, causing him to wince at the sun's brief but powerful glare, then wordlessly place two bowls down on the dirt, just within his reach. 

It was far better treatment than what some of the other prisoners were receiving. After being deemed as recalcitrant, he was placed in isolation rather than tortured, making him one hell of a lucky guy. He hadn't seen the men who ran the place since the day he was captured. At the rate he was being treated, his only real concern (apart from a sudden brutal execution) was the chance of walking out of this thing with some pretty poor back posture. That was something he could gamble with, however.

When the stone-faced Colonel spoke to him, Skinner couldn't hold back a yelp of shock. Eye contact between them was rare enough, but to actually be addressed by Chalmers was something entirely new and completely unexpected. 

"Seargent Skinner. I heard your platoon was, what, eaten by an elephant?"

When Skinner spoke, his voice croaked, filled with metaphorical (or possibly literal) cobwebs that had accumulated after months of silence, "Yes, sir. That was after they abandoned me."  
Chalmers raised an eyebrow and held out his hand, "Colonel Chalmers," he introduced himself. "Oh, you can't shake my hand, you're in a cage."

"I know, sir."

"What, uh, brought you here? To the war, I mean. Not-- not the cage."

"I was drafted, sir," Skinner recalled his days as a street-punk and winced at the memories. If he had only been aware of the impending war, perhaps he would have just done some community service. Invading Vietnam felt like a lot more trouble than it was worth. He was taken aback by the amount of pointless violence, his fellow men's futile attempts to escape with their lives, the explosions and the cries. 

Chalmers, usually expressionless when delivering Skinner's meals, seemed tense and, if it wasn't just his imagination, possibly afraid. "Right. Well.." 

A rustling noise came from the outside of the tent and the man before him froze in place, not daring to move a single muscle. After a few moments of anxious silence, the coast was clear and Chalmers quickly crouched down by Skinner's cage to meet his eyes, "I can get us out of here."

"You can _what?_ "

Chalmers briefly checked over his shoulder before moving closer, "Listen, we're on the same team here. I was captured far before you arrived and by doing small jobs for them, I've learned the ins and outs of this place."

Skinner listened to his hushed words in disbelief. How was this man still alive? Had he somehow gained trust from their captors?

"I feed you every other day and on my walk from the base to your tent, I've mapped out an escape," Chalmers said eventually with a tinge of pride.

All Skinner could do was stare through the bars of his cage and at the man, utterly dumbfounded as he tried to process everything at once. "The chances are extremely low," he said slowly, "but… if we _did_ manage to reach US Forces-- I don't understand why you're willing to help me."

Chalmers then decided to lean back and try a different tactic, "Do you have any dreams, Sergeant?"

"Dreams?" he flushed at the absurdity of the question, "I suppose I do. I've always wanted to work at the elementary school in my hometown, Springfield."

For the very first time, the stern soldier offered him a glimpse of a tender smile, "I see. We'd have a better chance at getting out of here alive if we worked together."

Skinner couldn't suppress his suspicion. Chalmers had to be either a double-agent or on the brink of a psychotic breakdown, he reasoned, "Give me one good reason to trust you."

"We either die here or die trying to escape."

Skinner nodded. After spending months confined and at the hands of his rivals, he supposed that was good enough for him. It was strange to have hope for once, but he embraced it.

\---

The Vietnam terrain was full of jungles, littered with traps and dangerous animals. When he was still with his platoon, Skinner witnessed many men die due to the conditions before any actual violence had a chance to come their way. Now, after walking for hours, the sun gleamed down on him and he turned to Chalmers, perspiring from the scorching heat and humidity, "Dear Lord," he was exasperated.

Chalmers fell to his knees next to him, equally exhausted as his back hit the coarse sand. They had been searching for fellow troops for over a week whilst enduring the deadly conditions and constant risk of being shot or recaptured. After managing to escape the POW camp, they were ecstatic and filled with a foreign sense of confidence, but like most good things, their success was fleeting.

Skinner looked skyward as the sunlight momentarily blinded him. "Chalmers…" he croaked, but his mouth felt too dry to speak and his head pulsed with every heartbeat.

"We must keep going, Seargent."

He wanted to stand up with Chalmers, but his limbs betrayed him as his vision became dark around the edges. He fell back down with a groan and stayed there, squeezing his eyes shut, "I can't."

"You don't have a choice."

"No, you don't understand, I can't go on."

Chalmers kneeled beside him and Skinner felt a cool hand resting against his forehead.

"You're burning up," his voice sounded oddly distant.

"Leave me here and go."

"Skinner, you're delirious," Chalmers' hand then slid down to caress his cheek, so with what little strength he had, Skinner reached up and held his wrist in return,

"Go."

"I'm not going to just _leave_ you, Seymour. You'll make it out alive, I promise."

Skinner knew the weight of an empty promise, but with his head swimming and his world turning vertigo, all he could do was smile lopsidedly and sigh, "Yeah?"

When he opened his eyes to squint at the man staring down at him, Chalmers was smiling back, but the fear in his eyes was impossible to miss. "Yeah," he echoed, "and you'll get to return to Springfield. You can work at the school like you've always wanted."

Skinner shut his eyes again, enjoying the imagery that accompanied the fantasy, "And you'll be there?"

"Sure," Chalmers nodded back at him, "I'll be there."

Even in his daze, Skinner could recognize the way Chalmers' voice faltered. It was quiet and uneasy, the tone of a child telling a lie with a tainted conscience. 

It was time for him to give up. He loosened his grip around Chalmers' wrist and yielded towards the aching abyss that beckoned him towards death.

But suddenly, gravity kicked in. Skinner was being lifted from the ground and hauled over Chalmers' shoulder. "I promised you that you'd make it out alive," he panted as he began to stagger on, "and a promise is a promise, Sergeant."

**Author's Note:**

> https://pbs.twimg.com/media/EW_W1o_X0AsjpXz.jpg


End file.
